


Nightmares Again?

by Arrestzelle



Series: Rammstein Requests [11]
Category: Rammstein
Genre: Affection, Alternate Universe - Benzin, Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 10:28:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23469922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Working alongside the other four as firemen, Paul is wrought with nightmares derived from his work, and his past. Till has always been skilled at comforting him.
Relationships: Paul Landers/Till Lindemann
Series: Rammstein Requests [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1523702
Comments: 16
Kudos: 34





	Nightmares Again?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fouroux](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fouroux/gifts).



> Warning for slight gore. It's very brief.
> 
> This is a drabble request for @iinchicore on Tumblr!! Hope you like it. ♡

He heard or read somewhere that a body weighs less when the soul vacates. But is it true? He doesn’t feel much of a difference, personally. She weighs the same to him, around sixty kilos—but somehow even more, as he carries her through the smoky remains of the crumbling building. His entire body is flexing, straining, aching to support her, arms locked around her back and legs. He charges blindly through the ashes of the place he once knew. It builds in his eyes, his throat, his sinuses. He can’t breathe. But he can’t afford to care. She is lifeless in his arms. So heavy. So… Heavy.

He looks down. She’s dressed in white, spotlessly so. The ash isn’t clinging to her. It seems like she hadn’t been affected by the roaring fire at all. But—her skin is melted away. Charred flesh horrifically replaces her once beautiful skin. And when he looks at her face, he sees only a skull. Chunks of her flesh drip away from her. And then she’s gone—her entire body dissolves into flakes of ash. He’s left empty-handed, standing there, lost.

A yell rips from his throat, bursting forth without restraint—he throws himself up onto his elbows, lurching from the chasm of his nightmare. Sweat is covering his body, his shirt clinging to him wetly. Panting hard, Paul looks around wildly, attempting to regain grasp on his reality. Finding no corpse, no ashes, no collapsed walls—he’s immediately relieved. He sags back into the pillows of his tiny bed, sighing heavily. He shakily runs his hands down over his face.

Turning over onto his side, Paul faces the wall his bunk is pushed against. He looks dazedly, distantly at the two pictures he has taped upon the ugly, chipping wall. The subject of his reoccurring nightmares, and his children. He can only picture the dripping flesh. The void eye sockets. The exposed skeletal features of her face.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Paul grinds his fingers into them. No way can he relax again, enough to go back to sleep. With a heaved sigh, he climbs lethargically out of bed, and makes his way from the dormitory to the tiny kitchen in search for a glass of water and a distraction.

* * *

“I heard you shout last night. Nightmares again?”

Paul glances up. It’s Till. He’s wiping off his dirty hands, rather uselessly, with an already-dirty towel. He’s been working on the truck. Considering he steps over to grab a bottle of water from the cooler beside the table, it seems he needed a break. Paul has taken it upon himself to smoke quietly at the table in the maintenance bay, where Till just happened to be tinkering with the truck. Schneider and Richard are on laundry duty today, Ollie is working out in the fitness room, but he, too, has to deal with cleaning the kitchen later. Paul is supposed to be doing quality checks on their equipment, but he can’t be bothered to start just yet. It’s eleven in the morning, and he’s still mentally waking up.

A lower, dismissive _yup_ comes somewhere from Paul’s throat, while he looks away from the brawnier fireman. Till noisily chugs the entirety of the water bottle in five seconds. Then he crushes the bottle, and throws it flawlessly into the trashcan at the opposite wall, beside the tool storage. Paul takes a drag of the cigarette caught between two fingers, panning his gaze back up to Till. Till is staring at him.

“Meditation before sleep might help,” he suggests, dropping into the foldable chair beside Paul’s. Paul says nothing. He blows out the smoke, silently settling his stare on Till’s. He watches him for a second. Till’s long, black hair falls across his brow and eyes handsomely, his cheeks unshaven. He looks good with some stubble. His eyes are calm, almost comforting. He’s wearing stained pants and a white tank top which clings very nicely to his muscular chest, and reveals firm arms. His biceps are heavily scarred. From the job, Paul knows. He’s the one that treated those wounds. Paul speaks lowly.

“As if that’s something you do, Till.”

Till shrugs, leaning back into the chair, resting his wrists against his broadly spread thighs, hands lazily hanging. Now he really is adopting a relaxed posture—all he needs to do now is literally kick up his feet. Paul thinks he deserves to, at least for a little while. He’s been working on that thing non-stop since nine. And it’s a huge monster of a truck. Really, they should hire a couple extra guys just for that reason alone. To handle the care and keep of the fucking thing.

Till reaches out quietly, calmly, to take Paul’s limp hand in his own. His large, calloused fingers slide along Paul’s, to gently thread them together. Paul continues watching him with an unreadable expression, but his eyebrows raise slightly. Till looks at him with the faintest perk of a smile on his full lips. Paul brings his cigarette to his lips, draws on it until it’s completely spent, and then turns away to put it out on the ashtray upon the table. Turning back to face Till, Paul searches his face while exhaling the smoke in a sharp burst directed away from them.

“You know there’s like, three cameras in here,” Paul says. Till squeezes his hand, smiling thinly. Paul strokes his thumb over Till’s. Till shrugs again.

“I don’t think hand-holding is very damning.”

“I think that’s just your opinion.”

Till laughs aloud. Paul grins slightly, face thawing from its tense state into something kinder, softened with amusement. He likes making Till laugh. Till hums lowly. Then he leans forward, while bringing Paul’s hand up. His handsome, piercing green eyes train on Paul’s as he kisses the back of his hand. His developing mustache tickles his skin. Paul smiles, heart pleasantly warm and full now.

The heavy door leading into the maintenance bay opens loudly. Till calmly slides his hand out from Paul’s and leans back against his chair again, crossing his arms. Paul looks over to see Schneider sticking his head in. He frowns at the sight of the two casually lounging around.

“Paul, you haven’t moved from that spot in an hour,” he says with an accusatory tone, stepping into the room to gesture with a wave of his arm, “Get your ass up and start on those quality checks. Do you really want to go against a fire with a malfunctioning fire hose?”

“Aye, aye, dearest mother,” Paul sings in reply, saluting with two fingers. Schneider doesn’t respond; he just disappears back behind the door, leaving it open.

“See?” Paul begins with a sly grin, looking at Till with dry amusement in his eyes, “Cameras.”

“Better get up then, dearest child,” Till remarks. Paul laughs and rises with a creak of the chair. His ass was beginning to get numb sitting on that hard, cold seat anyways. Till rises with him. Paul steps over and brings his arms around him in a manner which could be labeled as friendly. Till hums lowly and draws his arms tightly around the smaller man, squeezing him lovingly in his firm embrace—not merely friendly anymore. Paul laughs lightly, feeling lips and a nose skirt along his neck, into buzzed hair.

“Alright, alright,” Paul says, patting Till on the big shoulder. He grips him there hard, meant to display reaffirmation and, also, to pander to his desire to touch him. His skin is hot. Warm. Memories flash through Paul’s mind, of that hot skin against his own, this bigger, muscular body atop him, pinning him down. Paul internally rolls his eyes at himself, and then pulls back. Till smiles at him lightly, knowingly.

“Gotta get to it,” Paul starts awkwardly with a stiff thumbs up and a grin that comes out as a grimace. Till laughs lowly again, looking at him now with fonder eyes.

“See you at lunch,” he says, and then waits for a nod from Paul which comes, before turning away to return to his place at the truck. Paul shuffles his way out of the door, sufficiently flustered. At least now he’s mentally awake.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
